The trio struck out for the top of the hill that sat in what they presumed to be the center of the field. Neither Mark nor Squirrely looked back at the carnage that the ants were causing behind them. As long as they did not pursue them into the field, Mark did not care. Squirrely was too occupied at the front of the pack to look back. To her, the biggest danger lied in front of her. She knew Mark was using her on point as a distraction so he could make a quick kill, but she decided not to protest. He had taken care of her the past few days and the warm soup at night was a hard reminder that the sponsors watching liked the alliance. She now had a firsthand view of how Mark killed and did not want to be on the receiving end of the cold blank stare any time soon.
As the tri approached the top of the low hill, Squirrely cautiously moved over the crest. She knew better than to charge into a blind spot. Mark saw this and found new respect for his point man. She was a fast learner and was not about to take unnecessary risks.
The view at the top was stunning. It was about the same half mile distance down the low hill as it was up. The entire field was one huge rectangle that was bordered in fall covered woods. The area that the alliance had just come from was a black mass that occupied about half of a long edge. The swarm of ants had expanded, but did not seem to be growing as rapid as when they first uncounted them. Off to the right, the scared earth from blaze that Mark and Hank had set left blackened hills all the way to the horizon. The large plumes of smoke marked the present location of the fire that slowly made its way to the huge barren rectangle. Though not yet to the field broader, Hank thought they would not be able to use that section of woods very long.
Mark knew that this huge field was were the gamemakers would herd the tributes to make a last stand. Two sides already were being blocked off by fire and ants. Mark could only hope that whatever the powers that be had in store to close off the remaining side did not catch them. He felt confident that his alliance could withstand a final battle in the open.
"I guess we go down that way," Squirrely said as she pointed to the side opposite of the ants. There was no sign of fire or the swarm, but it did show signs of distinct low ground that could contain water.
"Reckon you may be right, but I think we might want to go that way," Hank interjected. He pointed his spear down to the left side adjacent to the ants. There, down the hill a figure was running parallel to the wood line. It was the girl from district six.
"Let's go," Squirrely shouted as she took off running down the hill.
"Hold it wild girl," Mark shouted. He stood firm and confident where he had been since they arrived at the center of the field. He looked in no mood to run at the moment. "She already saw us and that is a hell of a long run just to where she is now. No sense in chasing her. It may be a trap."
"We can get her," Squirrely pleaded.
"Reckon he's right. If I were her, I be fixin something to bushwhack us. If she's still alive, she ain't dumb." Hank stood firm with Mark on this issue. He was thinking the same thing as his partner. "Fixin we go the same way you first intended. We rustle up water, then we hunt."
Mark nodded in agreement. For the first time since this alliance started, he was not giving the orders. They were his exact thoughts and Mark saw no reason to add to what Hank suggested. He wanted out of the open terrain as fast as possible. The boy from district eleven was out there and might be watching. He could ambush them when they tried to enter the woods. Mark wanted to get back under cover and fast.
The trio descended down into wooded area fast. When they were just within arrow range, the three tributes fanned out into a line parallel to the wood line. The trio then took off in a sprint and zigzagged into the wood line. They stopped ten yards into the woods and collapsed down on Mark who was the center tribute of the three. All this was a precaution against a possible ambush. Anyone watching now knew that this was not a rag tag group of tributes, but an organized killing alliance. Mark had instructed them of this technique before they left the top of the hill as both a cautious and intimidating measure against possible assailants. He was not about to let his group get complacent this late in the games.
The group moved less than two hundred meters into the woods before they encountered brush so thick they could not move though it. It was a mass of thorn bushes and thin twisted vines that bunch between the trees. None of the three had any motivation to try and move though the tangled mess. Instead, Squirrely just turned right and followed the edge looking for an opening.
She did not have to move long before all three heard the sound of flowing water. The gurgling sound was just behind the tangled mess that lay to their side. Without hesitation, the group continued on their path searching for a way to reach the valuable resource. With such a possibly abundant supply and a defendable position against the thick wall, the group could make a camp later in the day in relative security. Hank even hoped for the possibility of a fire in such good terrain. He was growing weary and tired of the biting cold night. Thought the blankets and shard body heat helped, the nights were anything but fun. He could only imagined how the other tributes suffered though it.
After a short walk, an opening appeared in the vegetation. It was not wide, about the width of the two tributes, but it snake its way though the thorns and vines regardless. Mark did not like the limited space, but in the end he decided that they had to use the path. Besides, Squirrely always led the way. She could trigger any traps first. If he was to lay a trap, this was the perfect spot for it.
To all three's surprise, the wall of foliage was only about twenty meters thick and just a few meters past the opening was a sharp drop. Squirrely approached with caution then turned and smiled. She pointed down the steep slop of a ravine to a flowing stream of crystal clear water. The twenty foot sloping drop could be scaled to collect the fresh resource. The opposite slope was just as steep and the other side offered great field of vision to any tributes that approached.
"I'll pull security with the bow, you two can collect the water," Mark ordered scanning the woods. He never looked at his companions, but instead took a cautions look at the surrounding.
"Works for me partner," Hank answered. "Reckon I could use a drink right about now."
Hank and Squirrely descended the steep slope without many problems. The two dug their feet hard into the soft ground and braced themselves on exposed roots as they made their way to the stream. Mark waited till they both had reached the bottom until he threw down the water bottle to be filled. The two packs of supplies lay next to him as he crouched down and kept watch. The clean flowing water did not taste bitter to either of the two and they began filling and purifying the water. It did not take long to fill the containers, but the pair worked with haste. This was not the most ideal position to be in if danger approached. Squirrely was particularly uneasy in the ravine. She could almost sense something was wrong. Her face displayed an agitated look as she set about her tasks.
Then, Mark heard the crunching sound. He knew this could only mean one thing, ants. He immediately started scanning for signs of the danger. He knew that their position on the terrain was fragile. The noise seemed to be coming from the far end of the ravine, but for all he knew, it could be approaching from multiple directions. He had no intentions of becoming a meal for the vile black swarm.
"You need to move, now," he shouted. He knew this was dangerous to make so much noise, but he had no choice. They needed to hurry. "It's the ants!"
Hank and Squirrely wasted no time. They immediately threw the containers up to Mark and frantically tried to scramble up the steep sides. Hank was almost in panic as he thrashed at the dirt sides searching for anything he could grab onto. The dirt gave way every time he tried to dig his feet and hands into it and he continuously slid down. The panic grew worse with every failed attempt he made trying to climb out. He was breathing heavily and was frantic by the time Squirrelly grabbed him by the arms and shook him.
"This way," she screamed and pointed to up stream to a small group of trees sticking up from the side. By the time they sprinted up the fifty meters, Mark was there to meet them.
"Hank," Mark yelled, "Look at me. You have to settle down and focus. We still have a little time." His voice was calm and easy.
The moment did not last long. Though the crunching was growing louder, Mark heard something else. It was the sound of someone or something moving towards them. It was too large and loud to be the fat squirrels or other small game; it had to be another tribute. The crashing of branches and the rustle of leaves was heading in his direction just off to his left of the far side of the ravine. Mark drew back his bow, knelt down and prepared to kill whoever came into view.
Then, the unknown tribute came into view though the foliage. It was the boy from district eleven. He was running for his life with a panicked expression and looking constantly back to the direction he had just come from. Mark knew that the boy did not see him yet and nor would he before Mark put an arrow into his chest. He knew that this would be an easy shot.
The boy defiantly had help from what Mark could observe. The thick brown coat was not something that was in any of the supplies at the cornucopia. This must have been a gift from a sponsor to keep him warm. He did not look overly thin from lack of food or over exposure to the elements and he was not suffering from the same illness as the girl from district nine. Finally, his right hand clung to a two foot long sickle blade. This was definitely not like any of the weapons at the start of the games. Someone out there was betting that this boy could win the games and was helping him. While Mark and his alliance had received warm soup, the boy from nine, who most likely took very little from the cornucopia, had been handily supplied from the outside. In a few seconds, it would not matter, Mark was about to kill him now. The moment was almost ready for the perfect shot.
Mark fired just as the boy reached the edge of the ravine and slowed down. It was a perfect release, but something was wrong. The arrow struck the boy directly in the chest, but bounced off. It knocked the boy from district nine off his feet, but did not stick inside of him. Mark immediately reloaded and executed a second shot. It struck the boy in the side of the back, but it also bounced off. Mark was stunned and so was his target. The boy from nine now saw his assailant and quickly scattered behind a tree. All Mark could think was that the jacket was some sort of armor, a gift of protection from someone who wanted to level the playing field against Mark. A third shot would prove useless. The boy was pined down on the far side of the ravine and the ants were approaching from that direction. With a little luck, the arena might take care of the problem for Mark.
Looking down, Hank was close to the top. Mark lowered a hand down to pull him up, but never took his eyes off the tree the boy from nine was hiding behind. With a mighty pull, Mark lifted Hank up and over and shouted at him to get the bottles in the packs. The first signs of the ants were appearing in the near distance and they only had a few minute to be out of there. Suddenly, the boy from district nine took off parallel to the ravine zigzagging from tree to tree away from Mark. Mark paid him no attention as he fled. He had other tasks to attend to.
"I'm slipping," Squirrely yelled. "Help, please help!"
Mark saw the first black spots appearing on trees. Time was up for the alliance at the ravine. He just hoped that the boy from nine would not make it across. He stared down at Squirrely with a cold expression. His face began to go blank as a look of complete terror flashed across her face. Panic set in on the girl as she now realized what was at stake and what was about to happen. Then, Mark lowered his hand for her to grab. She thrashed her right arm and grabbed the outstretched life line. The panicked expression left her and Mark lifted her to safety.
"You didn't think I was going to leave you," he asked her.
"I, I, I wasn't sure, but…" Her words trailed off.
"We have an agreement, remember?"
There was no response. The expression of gratitude on the girl's face as she looked away told Mark that she was just as happy to be out of the ravine. The two exchanged another glances before she finally spoke.
"Thanks for saving me," she chocked up as tears stared to stream down her face.
"We have to move, now," Hank yelled.
The three took off for the opening in the wall of foliage. Mark slung the bow over his shoulders as he began to move. Squirrely and Hank grabbed the packs as Mark scanned the woods for signs of the boy from distinct nine. The ants were now making their way down the far end of the ravine. The group would be out of the woods before they swarm even reached the other side of the stream. Mark intended to wait on the other side of the thick wall opening in an ambush for the boy from nine. A well placed trap and shot to the head could negate any armor that boy wore. Mark wanted to eliminate him fast. He was well too equipped and sponsored for Mark's comfort.
They were almost at the opening when Mark heard the running behind him. He turned around to see the boy from nine charging him. His jacket was buttoned up and he was only seconds from him. The sounds of the ants provided him the stealth he needed to get close. There was no time for Mark to remove the bow from his back. He grabbed his tomahawk with his right hand and prepared to fight. Mark had no time to run. He knew that the boy from nine would be on him before he could make the turn into the opening. He had to fight. Though the boy was taller than Mark by almost a half a foot and faster in his movement, Mark had not choice but to face him. A last glance back told him Hank had already taken off thought the opening and did not see what was about to take place.